Summer vacation with Harry A conquest, or a puzzle?
by smilingcrescent
Summary: Sirius cannot quite grasp the concept of wizarding 'University', or his godson's recent affinity for stripping in the halls before showers. Sirius Harry (pre-slash) innuendos, dry humor. (Harry is a tease) (AU: Sirius Lives) (Wizard-Uni) (After Hogwarts)


**Summary**: Sirius cannot quite grasp the concept of 'University', or his godson's recent affinity for stripping in the halls before showers.

**Author's Note**: dry humor. Teasing word choice. Also, for the record, I like Harry's glasses.

**Disclaimer:** Harry Potter is the property of JK Rowling and associates. No copyright infringement intended.

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><p><em>A conquest, or a puzzle? Summer days.<em>

There wasn't so much as a word from Harry as he came in. Er, young man, that was. Harry was surprisingly tall these days...though not enough to top Sirius, he was pleased to find.

Sirius approached the entrance and found said-godson randomly stripping articles from his Quidditch uniform as he headed for the shower. The goggles and outer-robes had long since gone, and Harry was fingering his Muggle shirt, shifting and twisting it off...revealing a nice view of his chest. Then his hands shifted lower—

Sirius groaned and turned away. "Why couldn't you have just showered with your team?" The shuffling of clothing stopped momentarily.

"What? And found myself hounded by friend and foe while I'm wet, dripping and defenseless? Nothing but a towel to keep them back? No, I don't think so. Those fans are bloodthirsty."

"Fans who can't get into the _team_ locker room." Sirius retorted.

Harry snorted and opened the bathroom door. "I'm really hot Sirius...let me shower before you lecture me." With that, he marched into the room as he started to loosen his trousers again.

Sirius let out a barking laugh and retreated to the kitchen...perhaps Kreacher would be up for a round of verbal-sparring... He turned to go, but not before he saw a line of Harry's clothing marching (a bit sloppily) to the laundry bin down the hall. It seemed he still hadn't quite got the hang of household spells. Sirius grinned, wondering what would come of his godson coming in at all hours...crashing at his flat over 'Summer Hols from Uni', the pretentious brat. What did he need to go to University for, anyway?

When Harry was finished with the bath, he sauntered into the kitchen—dripping wet, yes, but defenseless Sirius couldn't give him.

"Why didn't you get a shirt on?" He asked, unable to prevent his gaze from wandering to Harry's trousers.

His green eyes were suspiciously clear and innocent. They even twinkled, Dumbledore-like. "I told you I was hot." He turned about, looking for Kreacher. "Is dinner ready?"

"He, uh, doesn't start cooking until six."

Harry hmmed a bit, and rummaged about until he found the fruit-bowl. He selected (of course) a banana. Sirius winced. "Do you know what's on the menu?"

"No. But, uh, I have some things to do..." Sirius skirted the edge of the kitchen, making a fast retreat before his reflexes got the better of him. But that wasn't the last Sirius saw of his half-dressed godson that summer, or even that week.

The next time Sirius saw Harry in his unmentionables was from a distance. He was sitting at the kitchen table, reading a Quidditch magazine, garbed in some strange Muggle garments that Sirius remembered Harry calling shorts—shorts that looked nothing like the short-trousers that Sirius remembered from his youth.

Sirius took a step forward, then a step back. Uncertainty wasn't something he was used to. Harry was, after all, a good-looking young man if you discounted those ridiculous glasses...he and James had dressed similarly casual without regard to their supposed 'class,' or anything Sirius had been taught as a child about _proper grooming, modesty to a point, and strong fashion to show your heritage._ Of course he'd mimicked James like mad.

But this was different. This was Harry Potter, his best friend's son who looked to Sirius as a sort-of parent figure. And now he was barefooted and shirtless (again).

Should he confront the boy? Ignore him. Or appreciate the view?

"Well," Sirius decided, "I'll just go take a walk..." Yes, that was it. Padfoot was the answer. He barked once before sneaking out the front door, bounding into the glowing sunlight and leaving memories behind.

He chased birds that reminded him of James' and Harry's hair. He followed a group of young men until they got the nerve to try and pet him—and then promptly rolled over for a good belly rub. He nearly forgot about Harry and his shirtlessness.

Summer was a good time to be a dog. Pleasantly tired and far too hot, he made his way home again.

When he came back into the house, he approached the kitchen table without a second thought. "How's school going?" He plopped into a chair.

"Oh, Uni's great. Everyone wants to be there, you know, and I don't have to take any rubbish classes...it's all practical, you know?"

"I don't see why you can't just get an apprenticeship."

"That's just not what people do anymore." Harry rolled his eyes in a rather Lily-ish fashion. Sirius had to resist the urge to charm his glasses away, or jinx her eyes shut—er, his eyes shut, for the hell of it.

Sirius hmmmed and got himself a glass of water.

Harry stood up, went to the bread-cabinet, and started to make sandwiches. Sirius, for the most part, was able to ignore his lean figure...the way his muscles moved, and the tightness of Harry's thighs in his shorts-that-were-not-short-trousers.

Sirius smiled a bit. "No homework then?"

"Oh, loads." Harry sounded entirely too cheerful. "It's like NEWT year all over again."

"Mm." Sirius said, trying to remember what _exactly_ Harry was studying...? Harry has changed his major every year- pre-criminal justice like his dad, potions (doomed to failure), sports education, and now (perhaps) finally settling on his strong suit of Defense and Curse Breaking. Or perhaps it was Defense and Warding...

"What is it you're wearing again?"

"Shorts." Harry replied. "Athletic-shorts. It's for exercise. It's more comfortable when you're sweating..."

Sirius coughed into his cup. "Right." He shouldn't be imagining that.

Over the course of the next two weeks, Sirius found himself poised and waiting for his godson's inevitable return from Quidditch practice. Kreacher knew to have fluffy towels in the shower, with fruit (not bananas) and sandwiches waiting. Sirius would handle the tea, though Harry hardly touched it.

By now, Sirius was quite familiar with the lines of Harry's shoulder blades. The distinct tautness of his arms, the planes of his chest and stomach...He still sighed though when Harry stripped from the door. That was really just too much. He said as much as Harry came in.

"Stop right there, young man. Off with your clothes _in_ the bathroom."

"Why? I'll have to toss them out anyway."

"Nope. No you won't. Just leave them in a pile on the inside of the door; Kreacher will get them _after_ you've left the bathroom."

"Right..." Harry said pleasantly. "If it makes you happy."

Sirius smiled, thinking that it was the end of uncomfortable near-nakedness. Then, on one of Harry's off days, the boy just didn't get dressed. He came down to breakfast in a slightly oversized shirt that barely concealed anything. It might be long-sleeved and not-tight-fitting, but the thing was practically transparent it was so thin. Sirius also doubted he was wearing those athletic-shorts today. He was sorely tempted to peek, but didn't. Except for maybe once—but no, that book was in the way.

"Who brings books to table?" Sirius groused.

"I need to finish my homework." Harry groaned into porridge. "I've let it go too long—I think I've forgotten how to write an essay."

Sirius nodded. That made sense. He didn't remember either.

And so Harry overtook the study...curled up in a squishy arm-chair with textbooks, parchment, and quills all around him. The day went on without much fuss—until Harry half-shouted. "Bloody hell!"

_Thud, thud, skitter._ Someone was dashing down the stairs. Harry was back in the kitchen, attempting to wash his pitiful excuse for a night-shirt in the kitchen sink. "Bleeding." Harry explained.

Sirius eyed the fabric. "Your quill? Or you?"

Harry frowned. "I was, but I Episkey-ed it. Still got to get the stain out though."

Ah. So he _was_ wearing something underneath... Sirius briefly appreciated Harry's butt. Interesting choice in pants—very touchable. Sirius cleared his throat and decided to go out and do some shopping. When he returned for dinner, Harry was still in the study. In the same sodding shirt.

"How's the essay coming?"

"Mm." Harry replied, too distracted to give him an answer. He didn't seem interested in dinner. "I'll eat it later..."

Afterward, Sirius sauntered back in with a cup of tea, but Harry was still playing the scholar. Sirius went to bed long before Harry, dreaming of soft pillows, dancing shorts, and nearly-transparent sleep-shirts with green eyes. Eyes that just wouldn't stop blinking, or _scratch, scratch_-ing.

"Mmmf..." he coughed into the pillow. It was too bright to be late, and too quiet to be morning. That was it; it was the early hours of morning, and Sirius's sleep was disturbed by the sounds of quills scratching, pages flipping, and the faint glow of enchanted candles in the study. He roused himself to go shout a bit.

"Can't you bloody-well go to your room?" He demanded. "You do remember that the study is right next to my _bedroom,_ don't you? I can't sleep with all those candles, that...that scratching."

"Does the sound of my breathing bother you too?" Harry asked confrontationally. "Look, I've got to get this work done, and the study has all the books. Why don't you cast a Silencing charm on your door or something?"

"Silencing charms aren't meant to last eight hours." Sirius scowled. "You woke me up."

Harry scowled at him and waved the door shut without another word.

Harry holed up in his room and the study for nearly a solid week, venturing out occasionally to eat with Sirius rather than request food to be taken into the study. Sirius found himself settling into routine.

During the day, it was easy to see the slender body of his athlete, fit and (for once in his life) not underfed. While at night, his face was almost fragile in the candlelight. These newer memories slowly took precedence of the earlier ones. Memories of Harry were overwritten—the thirteen year old desperate and angry youth who accepted Sirius within a few hours of meeting him. The temperamental teenaged young man in Grimmauld place, and the bone-tired hero of the last battle. He was happier now. Going to University, playing Quidditch, and changing his major every year...

"It's good to have you." Sirius said gruffly, pretending to do something with the laundry Kreacher had finished.

Harry grinned at him. "Good. I'll see you on the weekends sometime if you're up for it, you old lay-about."

Sirius threw a sock at him.

Summer passed swiftly, and not unpleasantly. Harry packed himself up, his essays completed and Quidditch robes neatly pressed. They had a nice breakfast together which ended in a warm embrace. For that moment, Harry clung to his neck with his heart thumping loudly in Sirius's ears.

Finally Harry's school would start up again, and he was set to move back into the dorms. "I wish I could commute...it's so much more comfortable at your flat."

"Come back to visit more this year. You can Apparate to the street." Sirius tried to sound friendly, to sound welcoming, but somehow he felt like someone's wife begging her husband not to do overtime. He coughed. "I'll see you soon,"

"Yeah. G'bye," Harry waved and stepped out of the Anti-Apparition wards. He was gone in a heartbeat.

Sirius wandered through his flat like a ghost, thinking, trying not to sink into the year-long mood he'd experienced six years earlier...when Harry left for Hogwarts and Sirius was trapped in his family home. He looked for something to keep him occupied. Something besides gloomily chasing pigeons as Padfoot, snarking at Kreacher, or attempting to make a really good prank-quill. He looked around the house, thinking of green eyed young men with hair like a bird's nest, and he found the white fabric in a corner of Harry's room. Sirius fingered the soft material of Harry's nightshirt; it was soft and silky, and for a moment, Sirius could understand why his godson wore it so often.

He chuckled, wondering if this was Harry's memento. "That little prat. He does these things on purpose, I swear he must."

A little more cheerful, Sirius considered his plans for the rest of the day. His godson would come back...and maybe, just maybe, Sirius could work in a kiss, or an arse-squeezing hug...

_"See you soon."_ Harry had said. Sirius would have to see to it that Harry kept the promise.

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><p>Thank you for reading!<p> 


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